Those 100
by Clearly Odd
Summary: A series of unrelated oneshots centering around Peter and Egon. Mostly slash, a few are just friendship, specifics for each chapter will be posted at the top of the page. As each of the chapters can be read as a standalone, this is listed as a complete work, but will continue updating
1. Introduction

Egon/Peter, developing relationship. Mentions of Ray and Charlie Venkman

-/-/-

Peter liked making introductions. So far as Egon could tell, it was something of a reflex by this point. The psychologist spent so much time schmoozing that "doctor" began to roll off his tongue before you could blink. He had introduced their motley band of paranormal specialists more times than anyone could count (actually, Egon's numbers totaled 152 over the years, if you didn't factor in client meetings), but the physicist still took particular pleasure in hearing Peter introduce him to others. No matter the recipient of the inevitable handshake hello, Peter always made Egon sound so important.

The first time he had noticed was the day he met Ray. Peter had dragged the freshman along to a lunch date (not an actual date, of course, not then) of his and Egon's and introduced Egon with a wave of his hand. "Egon, this is Ray Stantz, the whiz kid I was telling you about. Ray, this is Egon Spengler, future ruler of the world and my friend."

It occurred to Egon that he had never heard Peter speak in that particular tone of voice. It contained his usual note of dry humor, yes, but it also contained a sort of pride. It also occurred to him that he had never heard Peter refer to him as his friend before. Even as he engaged in their usual banter, the instance struck him as important. "Really, Peter. I should think ruler of the world would be your aspiration."

"Yeah, I decided I don't actually want to do any of that important decision-making crap. I'll let you be the brains and make the world a better place and I'll just be the incredibly rich and handsome figurehead."

"How generous of you."

The day Peter had introduced Egon to his father had been of another tone entirely. "Dad, this is Doctor Egon Spengler." Indeed, by the time Mr. Venkman met Peter's friends, Egon had already received his doctorate.

Peter seemed genuinely happy to see his father, but he held himself with almost smug satisfaction as he introduced the blond. It almost seemed that he was saying to the man, _look what I've got that you'll never have._ As if Egon's friendship was a pristine item Peter had obtained despite his father's influence. And as Egon grasped the older Venkman's hand to shake in greeting, he barely glanced at the balding man and instead directed a small smile at Peter, who returned it with a wink.

Though, if ever there was weight in Peter's voice as he introduced Egon, it was the day Egon met Mrs. Venkman. "Mom, this is Egon." The brunet paused, "It's taken us a while to get out here, but I figured he was someone worth bringing."

The blond was silent, uncertain what to say. He pondered the inflection of Peter's voice. _Egon_. No title, not even his last name, as if those things held no importance here. And they didn't really, he supposed. To Peter, first and foremost, he was simply Egon—friend, colleague, lover—and his name held all those meanings in the way the other man said it.

The silence stretched on. "This seems pretty silly, huh?" Peter asked finally.

"Not at all. I'm very glad you brought me here. One can never tell, after all, whether they are still watching."

Peter's eyes didn't stray from the gravestone before them. "Yeah. Guess not."


	2. Complicated

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

"Egon," Peter stared down at the contraption on the lab table with a mixture of amusement and confusion on his face, "Why are you attaching a battery to a giant butterfly net?"

Egon favored the psychologist before him with an exasperated glance over the rims of his glasses before returning his attention to the contraption in question. "It is not a giant butterfly net, Peter, it is a containment alternative to the traps. When we cross paths with entities of a nonthreatening nature, they are often deterred by the force which the traps exert on them, even when putting them into a trap may be the only way to keep them out of harm's way."

At this point, Egon spared a glance at Slimer, who was floating placidly nearby, napping through the afternoon, "Ray and I theorize that this ectoplasmic containment net will provide a more welcoming alternative; it won't detain large or malicious entities but it should be enough to contain and relocate smaller, weaker spirit classes."

Peter quirked an eyebrow at the net, nodding pensively at the explanation Egon spouted, then shrugged. "All I'm getting out of that is this is basically a big butterfly net for ghosts."

Scowling, Egon nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and sighed. "If you insist on over-simplifying its purpose, yes, I suppose you could call it that."

With a grin, Peter ambled around the side of the lab table and leaned against Egon's back, murmuring in his ear, "Hey, as long as you're gonna make everything sound complicated, I'll be here to over-simplify it for the rest of the world."


	3. Making History

Friendship, no warnings

-/-/-

One of Peter's favorite news pieces ever done on the Ghostbusters was one that had aired towards the beginning of their careers. Just a few months after the Gozer incident, the reporter had cited the group as "Making history as experts and fighters of the paranormal," and the phrase had really struck Peter. Making history.

It had occurred to him when he and Egon were setting prices for their services that no one had ever done anything like this before, but all it had meant to him at the time was that they could charge whatever the hell they wanted. No need for competitive prices when there was no competition. After watching the story, however, he really began to think about what it meant.

It meant that they would likely be mentioned in any respectable class on parapsychology. It meant that any groups that tried to provide the same services would do their very best to emulate them. It meant that they were offering something so new and strikingly unique that they had become a household name nationwide—hell, maybe even worldwide. France had heard about them somehow, after all. It meant fame and fortune and- "It means we're helping people, Peter."

Oh yeah. That. Helping people hadn't necessarily been Peter's first, second, or third thought when they started up the business, but Egon made a good point. "Our experiences are unprecedented. When the scientific community finally comes around—and they will, don't look at me like that—the information we've collected and the experiments we've performed will be invaluable. Think about how many lives could have been lost without our interference in even just the coming of Gozer.

"And such paranormal catastrophes are not limited to New York, Peter, they happen all over the world. Imagine how many more people could be saved with the widespread application of our technology."

Peter did imagine it. "Yeah. That'd be pretty good. So would the royalties that would come in from patenting our technology."

"_Peter._"

"Okay, okay, you got me. Making history by helping people is almost as good as doing it by making a fortune in a new line of work."

He paused.

"Maybe better, even."


	4. Rivalry

Egon/Peter, Janine also featured. No warnings

-/-/-

Anyone observing from the outside might have interpreted their acerbic banter as genuine dislike, but those with the misfortune of daily exposure had labeled it with the only term that felt apt: sibling rivalry.

Peter and Janine were not related, of course, not by any traceable bloodline. However, after so many years as their unshakeable secretary, Janine had earned herself a place as honorary sister, in the same way the four men considered themselves brothers of sorts. They each showed this affection towards her in their own ways, but none in such an explosive way as Peter.

They argued about everything, from when to schedule busts to the value Slimer had around the firehouse—and even though the total of Janine's Slimer-induced temper tantrums was second only to Peter's, she'd be damned if she gave him an inch in any argument. They would snark back and forth at each other until someone started shouting, at which time one of the others found it best to intercede. The two were no longer allowed to discuss where to get lunch after their last debate had almost escalated to the point of blood loss.

It was simply the way things were around the firehouse. The way things had always been. And that was absolutely fine… until someone got dragged into it.

Neither Peter nor Janine really had the heart to rope eager-to-please Ray into an argument. It was unwritten law that he was off-limits, the proverbial younger brother that was to be protected under penalty of death or tattling. Winston was smart enough to disappear when he scented a Peter vs. Janine style brawl in the air. The first, last, and only time he'd been dragged into one of those, Janine had conveniently lost all Winston's mail and Peter had left Slimer's favorite candy bar in Winston's pillow case. He didn't remember how he'd ended up on both their bad sides, but he wanted no part of any of it ever again.

That, of course, left Egon, who had little tolerance for their sibling-like spats to begin with. He put up with it to a point because it was his partner on one hand and his close friend/employee on the other—a certain amount of indulgence could be afforded. There came a point, however, when enough was enough.

Janine watched, quietly amused, as Peter struggled to carry a large box from the front door over to the stairs. The label boldly stated that it was from the parts depot where Egon and Ray liked to order a lot of their spare tech and it was doubtlessly filled with heavy metal objects. Still, never let it be said that Janine passed up an opportunity waved in front of her face. "It's sad, really, watching someone struggle with the fact they're past their prime." She commented idly, filing away at the edge of her nail.

"_Past my prime?_ Do you have any idea how heavy this damn box is?" Peter demanded, indignant even in his breathlessness, "I suppose it would kill you to lend a hand."

"Can't, Doctor V. Might break a nail." She grinned, waving her red-painted fingertips at him.

Peter groaned and dropped the box on a nearby chair, almost toppling it with the unbalanced weight. "Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He affected the nasally voice he chose whenever he insulted her fashion sense, "And while we're on the subject, darling, you may want to hit the salon soon, your roots are starting to show."

Janine gasped. "My hair color is completely natural and you know it!" She snapped, tossing her file down on her desk.

"Right, natural as fistful of ectoplasm in your underpants." Peter smirked.

The secretary's face twisted up in distaste, but the appearance of Egon cut off any reply. "Ah, wonderful, the parts for the pack upgrades have arrived. I was hoping…"

"Egon, Peter is making fun of my hair!" Janine pointed accusingly at the psychologist, cutting off whatever Egon was hoping.

"How can I not? That color is only natural on an orangutan." Peter shrugged.

"Oh, that's rich. Hair criticism coming from someone who loses more of his every year." Janine replied icily.

Peter gasped this time, his hands coming up instinctively to grasp at the strands of brown hair that were not thinning thank-you-very-much. "I am _not_!" He shrieked, "Egon, tell her I'm not losing my hair."

"Excuse me?" Egon quirked an eyebrow, looking from Peter to Janine.

"No, Egon, tell Peter that I do not dye my hair!" Janine demanded.

"But I don't…" Egon began again.

"But she does, you can see that dye job from the space station. I, on the other hand, have as full a head of hair as I did when I was in college!"

"Oh, so you started losing your hair that early?"

"If you would both just…" The blond tried once more.

"I'll show you who's losing hair!" Peter growled, looking about ready to sprint across the garage at Janine.

"_Enough!_" Egon's irate bass tone boomed across the room, practically bouncing off the walls back at them, "I do not know what started this argument, but you are acting like children! If you insist on continuing this behavior, I shall treat you as such and place you both in a time-out."

Peter and Janine were stunned to silence long enough for Egon to swoop in on his package, heft it up with a grunt, and trundle very succinctly up the stairs with it.

When the cuffs of his sensible slacks had disappeared into the ceiling, the spell seemed to wear off. "That was…" Janine began.

"Kinda hot, actually." Peter grinned wolfishly, eyes lingering on the stairs.

"Peter!" The secretary snapped, "You promised you'd never wave that in my face!"

"Sorry, Melnitz, can't talk now, I've got a physicist to seduce." Peter called back, already bounding the steps.

Janine's angered cry of "_Venkman!_" followed him all the way up.


	5. Unbreakable

Egon/Peter, minor violence, descriptions of wounds/blood

-/-/-

It had all happened so quickly, as such things often do. Not that there was really a lot of precedent for their particular situation. But where the phrase "such things" represents disastrous events that seem to turn one's life on its ear, then yes, they often seem to happen quickly.

They had been warned, of course, that the specter they were hunting was "lightning-quick and packing claws that'd make a grizzly whimper," to quote the worksite foreman. And yet it was somehow completely unexpected when the class 5 apparition slithered out from behind a beam and swiped at Peter with what could only loosely be termed as "claws." The four razor protrusions adorning each hand were no less than eight inches in length and it was only Peter's reflexes that saved his internal organs from becoming mince.

That wasn't to say that he had completely evaded disaster. "Peter!" Egon's voice tore from his throat before even he fully realized what had happened.

What he did know was that the five had scored a hit on Peter, who had been bringing up the rear, and the brunet was now lying several feet away, unmoving. Winston, ever level-headed in an emergency, was the first to do something useful. "Grab it!" He shouted, gunning his proton thrower and hitting the wraith with pointed accuracy.

Ray's stream joined his in short order, causing the ghost to screech angrily over the zap-crackle of the proton beams. It struggled, fought for all it was worth, but it was more than held down by the two experienced busters, and Egon was tossing the trap out below it before the order could fully form on Winston's lips. He watched with dazed satisfaction as the ghost stretched thin and was sucked down into the trapezoid of light.

The trap snapped shut with an anticlimactic click, the indicator light proving the five was now effectively detained. The three remaining men paid it no mind, however, as they rushed towards their fallen member. Egon was on his knees beside the psychologist in the half the time it took Winston and Ray to get there, concern plain on his long face.

It wasn't as though they didn't get knocked around on busts—and Egon wasn't going to pretend Peter wasn't on the receiving end of a lot of the knocking—but there was being the recipient of a very thorough sliming, and there was being slashed at by the owner of talons the size of kitchen knives. "Peter?" Egon placed his hand on the side of Peter's face, aware immediately that the brunet was awake.

His face was screwed up in pain as he clutched desperately at the front of his uniform, already soaked with an alarming amount of blood (not that any amount wasn't alarming). He inhaled noisily, sucking wind as though he'd been holding his breath, and hissed, "God, that fucking hurts."

Egon took in what he could of the damage; four diagonal slashes ran from the lower left portion of Peter's ribs all the way to his right collar bone. It was hard to tell how deep they were, sight obscured by blood and ripped fabric, and Egon wasn't sure he wanted to know right now. "C'mon, let's get him to Ecto," Winston said.

The physicist didn't even remember Winston kneeling down on Peter's other side, but his suggestion made a lot of sense. Egon and Winston managed to bundle Peter into the back seat of their signature vehicle on double time, Ray following behind with the trap and Peter's discarded pack, before taking off for the nearest emergency room.

Winston drove, as well as one could in New York traffic, while Ray occupied the passenger seat. It had been a reluctant choice on his part, but Peter was stretched out across the bench seat in the back and Egon was taking up the floor, digging around for a suitable compress, leaving no room for Ray to fuss.

Egon finally retrieved a spare uniform and folded it into a haphazard rectangle before pressing it over as much of the wound as he could. Peter groaned. "When I told you I can take it rough, Spengs, this isn't what I meant." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Indeed?" Egon replied, playing along for Peter's sake, and maybe for his own as well, "And here I thought we were engaging in some complicated round of foreplay."

Peter snorted with laughter, then hissed and paled as the motion pulled at the gashes in his front. Egon frowned and splayed his fingers as wide as he could, attempting to apply pressure wherever possible. Large though his hands were, a fact that Peter regularly joked about, the blond couldn't seem to cover enough area to staunch the bleeding. Finally, he released the uniform and tugged gently, impatiently at Peter's shoulders. "Peter, sit up."

"What?" Shock was setting in; there was a dazed quality to his voice, a glaze over his eyes and a sheen of sweat coating waxen skin.

"Peter, sit forward, _now_." Egon demanded, aiding the brunet by pulling him in the right direction.

Peter made a pained noise in the back of his throat, but Egon was already slipping onto the seat behind him, practically under him, and wrapping his arms around his injured torso. "Now really the time for cuddling, Spengs?" Peter mumbled, even as his eyes began to drift shut.

"Peter, do not close your eyes!" Egon demanded, cinching his arms tightly against his makeshift compress.

"What the- Jesus, 'gon," Peter gasped, his eyes snapping open, "Hurts like a _bitch_."

"I am attempting to keep pressure over your wounds. I'm afraid it's going to hurt." Egon could feel the body in his arms shivering in earnest, reacting to the loss of blood, and cursed quietly. "Winston?"

The driver didn't turn at Egon's voice, not daring tear his eyes from the road at the speed they were going. Ray answered for him, uncertain if Winston had even heard. "We're ten minutes out, guys, just hold on." He said, uncharacteristically grave as he glanced anxiously from the road to the back seat.

Egon gave no response, instead shifting his arms against Peter when his eyes began to slide shut once more. "I said, do not close your eyes."

Glassy green eyes snapped back open, glaring up Egon. "'m not allowed to blink?"

"You are either the world's slowest blinker, or you were…" Egon didn't finish the thought. "Try to stay awake."

"'s hard." Peter mumbled, turning his head to look at Egon as best he could while laying back on the other man's chest.

"Try harder." Egon told him firmly, readjusting his grip before continuing softly, "Please. I refuse to lose you Peter, please stay awake."

"N't gonna lose me. Won' leave you," Peter slurred over some of his words, but his message came through, "You 'n me? Wh't we have's unbreakable, 'gon."

The inevitable lowering of his eyelids came again, and the last thing Peter heard as he drifted into the dark bliss of unconsciousness was Egon's strained baritone, begging him to open his eyes again.


	6. Obsession

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

It really wasn't what Peter would call an obsession. A preoccupation, at worst. But, really, it was more of a… casual enjoyment. It was completely allowed.

So, no, Peter was not obsessed with Egon's voice. He just liked hearing it, was all. That was really it. And Winston could just shut the hell up, because Peter did _not _invent excuses just to hear the blond talk.

When Peter wandered into the lab, ostensibly bored and looking for some form of entertainment, it couldn't be helped that Egon would rope him into an explanation of his latest experiment or theory. Peter had learned from experience that once Egon got started on that sort of thing, it was really very difficult to interrupt him. Instead, the psychologist would just sit on the couch and listen idly. Not much else to do in that situation, it couldn't be helped.

When Peter checked and rechecked every situational development with Egon on a bust, well, that wasn't suspect in the least. Egon was, after all, one of the world's foremost parapsychological experts (and one of the only, but who was counting), a founding member of the Ghostbusters, and almost as much of a buff on the supernatural as Ray. Not to mention he knew the ins and outs of all the equipment. Naturally, Peter would check in with him regularly, seeking his advice or opinion.

And of course his pairing off with Egon when splitting up couldn't be helped, that was the way it worked. Winston went to keep an eye on Ray, and Peter did the same for Egon. They couldn't very well send two absent-minded professors off into danger together. It was simply common sense.

When Peter chose to spend his free time chatting, or arguing, with Egon, it wasn't as though that was abnormal. They had been together for some time, and had been best friends for years before that. Couldn't a guy enjoy the company of his best friend or lover without being bombarded with accusations?

And when they were alone, really alone, the sounds Peter would hear Egon's voice form then, well… The distracted moans he made in the middle of a deep kiss, and the whispers of Peter's name that embodied his embraces, and that deep, irresistible groan he would give when Peter—yes, it was easy to say that the things Egon's voice did then were worth getting excited about.

But to go and say that Peter had some kind of obsession with hearing Egon talk? With hearing his voice? Now that was just taking it a little far. By his (amateurish) calculations, Peter figured he really only spent the time when he was awake talking to or attempting to engage Egon in some way. And that wasn't so much, was it?


	7. Eternity

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

Peter paused briefly in his pursuit of Egon's mouth, pulling back to look at the man lying below him. After a moment, Egon seemed to realize the kisses weren't about to continue and opened his eyes, quirking an eyebrow at the faint smile on Peter's lips. "What is it?"

"Just thinking," Peter shrugged as well as he was able while bracing himself on his elbows, "I could do this forever."

The blond eyebrow inched higher. "Your refractory period suggests otherwise, Dr. Venkman."

Rolling his eyes, Peter scowled down at Egon. "Not what I meant, genius."

"Well. Do enlighten me, then." Despite the request, Egon reached up and threaded deft fingers through brunet hair to pull Peter down for another kiss.

"I meant… that… I could do _this_," Peter gasped out between kisses, "Us. You and me."

That finally gave Egon reason to pause. It wasn't often Peter spoke of the future—theirs or otherwise. He was a man who enjoyed living in the moment, and thus far it hadn't bothered Egon much at all. "And what brought you to this conclusion?" He asked softly.

"I dunno," Peter half shrugged again, "Been thinking about it for a while, I guess."

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

Both men were silent, blue eyes locked with green before Peter shifted himself fractionally to the side, now laying only half on top of Egon in a more relaxed position. "Why have you been thinking about it?" Egon inquired further, "You are not usually one to consider what will take place past the present fiscal quarter."

Peter snorted. "Well someone has to keep us in the present. If it weren't for me, you and Ray would have your heads somewhere in 2015 by now. Anyway," He paused, "I guess it's just something I've been rolling around for a while. Asked myself where I wanted to be and the answer was pretty easy."

"Here?" Egon hazarded a guess, "In the fire hall, running a reasonably lucrative business with your close friends?"

The psychologist shook his head. "With you. Ray and Winston, too, yeah, but… I love ghostbusting, but anything you wanted to do? I'm with you all the way." He exhaled, "Always."

It was the strangest sensation, Egon decided, finding himself speechless. Not something he felt often. Something that was a sight more familiar was the warmth spreading across his awareness—not exactly a tangible feeling, but something highly emotive. "'Til death do we part, as they say?" He asked finally.

"Hell, after everything we've seen on this job? I don't think even that'll stop me." Peter smiled, small and genuinely.

"To eternity, then?"

"Yeah," Peter leaned up, placing a kiss on the underside of Egon's jaw, "Sounds good."


	8. Gateway

Egon/Peter, set in the college time frame, no warnings

-/-/-

Peter sighed.

Egon flipped page in his book.

Peter sighed again. Loudly.

Egon had no visible reaction.

Peter rolled over to face Egon, with as much rustling of sheets and jostling of the mattress as he could manage. Which was quite a lot.

Egon flipped another page.

"Egon." Peter said finally.

"Mhm." Egon hummed absently.

"Egon, the bed is on fire." Peter said reasonably.

"Of course." Egon mumbled.

"And I'm cheating on you with my history professor. The hot, red-headed one." Peter continued.

"Good…" Egon replied without looking away from the text in his lap.

"And let's not forget that I washed your mold down the drain when I cleaned out the fridge." Peter finished idly.

Egon blinked. "Excuse me?"

Peter grinned. "I knew that would get your attention."

"Indeed," Egon admitted, marking his place in his book and looking over at Peter finally, "Any claim of your having cleaned something does warrant my undivided attention."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Real droll, Egon. So tell me," He reached over and tugged at the thick, leather-bound book still bearing Egon's bookmark, "What's so exciting that you can ignore the one and only Peter Venkman occupying your bed?"

"Watching the paint dry, perhaps?" Egon replied with a wry twist of his lips, but pressed on at the challenging flash in Peter's eyes, "In this case, it happens to be the book Raymond was telling us about earlier this week."

"What, that… "Toby's Spirit" thing?" Peter asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Tobin's, Peter, Tobin's Spirit Guide. It is a compendium of all known deities and demonic entities, as well as a theoretical classification system of…"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember Ray's spiel on the thing." Peter waved his hand, as if he could clear his mind of the memory, "Like a kid with a new puppy. A puppy that spews facts about demonic possession."

"It was a very good find, Peter. This is an early edition of the book; it's not in print anymore and cannot be found anywhere." Egon reminded him, as though it were possible to have missed that point in Ray's excited rant.

"Except in Ray's favorite junk shop, apparently." Peter pointed out.

Egon ignored him. "It was very generous of Ray to lend the book to me."

"Generous, nothing. He's just happy to have someone to share the madness with." The brunet reached over and tapped the cover of the book, "That thing's a gateway drug, you know? One day you're just reading about ghosts and ghoulies and before you know it you're trying to summon the suckers."

If Egon had been one for rolling his eyes, he surely would have done so then. "I hardly think there is a notable correlation between knowledge of the supernatural and attempting to sell one's soul."

Peter snorted. "Well, I don't know about your soul, but don't ever think about selling anything else of yours. I happen to be pretty fond of most of it," He made no attempt to be discrete as his eyes traveled appreciatively up Egon's body, "And your ass definitely already belongs to me."

This startled a laugh out of the blond. "Really, Peter?" He quirked an eyebrow, making a valiant attempt to quash an amused smirk.

"Yep, really." Peter made no such attempt before leaning forward to otherwise occupy his lips.

To his credit, Peter did manage to take Egon's attention away from Tobin and all his spirits until the next morning.


	9. Death

Egon/Peter, friendship between all of the guys, ambiguous ending

-/-/-

The portal gaped wide, a swirling vortex of destructive energy cutting the street in half. Great flashes of purple and pure white energy shot through the blackness that was endeavoring to consume everything within a several yard radius. And before it, just out of reach of the portal's efforts of consumption, stood the Ghostbusters. "Peter…" Egon raised his voice to be heard over the howling of the wind around them.

"I don't want to hear it, Egon. We already discussed it, it's gotta be me." Peter cut off the concerned physicist.

"But maybe there's another way, Peter!" Ray tried, tugging desperately at Peter's arm, "Something we didn't think of, something we could do…"

"We don't have time, Ray! How long before this thing reaches peak and can't be closed, huh?" Peter demanded, looking back at Egon.

Egon glanced at his watch, despite the fact he'd been calculating the time in his head since they'd stepped out into the street. "Five minutes and twenty-three seconds."

"This is it, then." Peter replied grimly, before making an attempt at his usual cocky smile, "Besides, don't you guys have any faith in this doohickey you designed?"

Peter tapped the thick belt fastened securely around his waist, a gaudy affair of metal and haphazard wiring. "This baby'll bring me though, no problem. Either that, or it'll electrocute me." He shrugged, exaggerating his show of nonchalance.

Winston snorted, shaking his head. "Pete, do me a favor…" Peter turned to his friend, still smiling, but his eyes pleading, _don't make me promise anything I can't keep_, "…Don't ever change, man."

Peter's grin twitched, becoming a hair more genuine. "Yeah, Zed, I think I can manage that." He grasped Winston's hand and found himself pulled in for a hug.

Ray was next, attaching himself to Peter almost before Winston could even release him. "You'll be okay. The belt will work. I'm sure of it." Ray mumbled against Peter's shoulder, so quiet Peter strained to hear him over the rush of air and cracking of pavement.

"Sure, Ray. Nothing you guys have built has killed me yet." Peter winked at the redhead has he extricated himself from the affectionate hug he promised would not be their last.

Finally, he turned to Egon, who looked equal parts determined and desperate. "Peter…" He attempted again, cut off by the brunet holding up a hand.

"Egon, just…" Peter trailed off, shaking his head, then surged forwards and sealed his mouth over Egon's for a brief moment.

As he pulled back, he grinned at the rare look of an utterly surprised Egon Spengler. "Wanted to do that for a while," He admitted, "Figured I should before I… Well, it gives you one more thing to yell at me about when I get back."

"There are a good many things I wish to do with you when you get back, Peter," Egon took great care to emphasize _when_ and not _if_, "Yelling may not be chief among them."

"Huh. How about that." Peter contemplated the blond before him for a moment more, then looked to his other two friends and turned away completely before he lost the will to do so, calling over his shoulder, "See you on the other side, guys!"

With little time to spare, he took a running start at the writhing mass of energy still tearing away at the New York street, shut his eyes, and jumped.

The effect was abrupt and unexpected. Peter disappeared in one moment and the portal followed him in the next, blinking out of their plane of existence like a television shuts off. Objects it had torn from the surroundings hung in the air for a moment before crashing back to the ground. And then there was nothing.

Winston, Ray, and Egon stood, staring at the wrecked street before them, waiting for their colleague, partner, and friend to reappear. Waiting. Waiting for anything. But all that remained was cracked pavement, and the world around them became still and silent as death.


	10. Opportunities

Egon/Peter developing relationship, no warnings

-/-/-

It wasn't than there hadn't been any opportunities. Goodness knows there had been plenty of those.

There had been that time a month after they'd met, when their friendship was more of a suggestion than something concrete. They had found each other attractive, that much was obvious, and Peter was (mostly) confident he (probably) could have coaxed Egon into a one night stand that night he was helping the blond out in the lab. He was glad he never tried, though.

There had been that time when Peter had talked Egon into going to one of his infamous frat parties and the physics student had been terribly out of place without even realizing it and Peter had spent so much time tailing Egon around in disbelief of his utter social blindness that he hadn't had a damn thing to drink. They had walked back to Egon's apartment cold sober, laughing and chatting in the moonlight.

There had been that one New Year's Eve where Ray had fallen asleep with his face in a text book, despite Peter's admonitions that they were on _break,_ damn it, and Peter and Egon had wound up side by side on the couch counting down on Peter's cheap watch. When the hands lined up on the all-significant twelve, their eyes met across the stained tweed cushion and Ray let out a particularly loud snore.

There had been Egon's umpteenth graduation celebration—this one was special, though, celebrating his first well-deserved doctorate—when Peter had settled down beside Egon at the table at the restaurant and asked him, "How does it feel, Doctor Spengler?" and Egon was nothing if not honest in responding, "Not much different, I admit." Peter had slung and arm over his shoulders and, for once, said nothing. No one was paying them any attention and they sat together for the entire night, moving neither away nor closer together.

There had been the first night they spent at the firehouse, huddled side by side in sleeping bags against spring's nighttime chill as they had yet to get any of the building's systems running, going over plans for their bouncing baby business by the light of an old camp lantern Ray had provided. Ray and Egon babbled science until Peter was sure their jaws had to be sore (his ears certainly were) and finally decided to call it a night so they could get an early start in the morning. Ray turned out the lantern and cheerfully bade them good night, leaving them all in city silence for some time. Finally, across the darkness, Egon murmured Peter's name.

"Yeah, Spengs?"

"Thank you. For putting forth such a tremendous effort to make this happen."

Peter had turned to find the shadow of white blond hair in the ink of the night, zeroing in on the ghostly shape of Egon's face. "Yeah," He'd answered finally, "No problem."

There had been the heart-stopping moment of panic in between Egon's call for Peter on a rooftop covered in gooey marshmallow and Peter's answer confirming his health and wellness, and the adrenaline-fueled moments that followed in which either man could have swept across the destroyed expanse of brick and corn syrup to each other but somehow didn't.

No, there had been opportunities. More than could be listed, than could even be remembered, and they had never been taken. So Peter wasn't sure what had possessed him to saunter into the lab one afternoon, place a hand on the small of Egon's back, plant a quick kiss on his mouth and ask him what he was up to, as though he'd done it a hundred times before. Whatever it was, however, must have been the same thing that made Egon respond as though the action was commonplace.

And if it took them a few moments to realize something was a bit different about their interaction that day, well, there was no one around to notice but the two of them.


	11. 33

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

"Surely this is a sign of some hitherto unknown apocalyptic event that has escaped even the notice of Tobin's database." Egon observed dryly from the doorway of the kitchen.

Peter turned away from the stove, scowling at Egon. "Well if this is the reaction I'm gonna get every time I get up before noon, I'm just gonna stop trying." He sniffed, returning his attention to the food sizzling away in various pans on the old gas stove.

"Thirty-three." Egon replied succinctly, coming forward to stand at the counter beside Peter.

"Excuse me?" The brunet turned again, raising an eyebrow in confusion at his lover's non sequitur.

"Thirty-three," Egon repeated, "Is the percentage of mornings you have risen before 11 A.M., unprompted, when there is no work to be done. At least, since we have begun sharing living quarters."

"Seriously, Spengs? You've been _counting_? That's kinda weird, even for you." A small, amused smile tugged at the corners of Peter's mouth, despite his words.

"It is usually such an unexpected occurrence that I must take note. Today, for example," The physicist glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall, even though he had their work schedule memorized, "We have no busts, no other business-related obligations, and I'm quite certain you were crowing yesterday about having finally caught up on your paperwork. I find myself unable to come up with a reason for your early rising."

"Can't a guy just make his friends breakfast without being subjected to the Inquisition? Seriously, you don't have to question every nice thing I do." The words were spoken with an airy sort of humor, but they made Egon frown.

He leaned over, placing a hand on Peter's arm and stilling the other man as he reached for his spatula. "It wasn't my intent to upset you." He stated seriously, "I only wondered what the occasion was. You do so rarely grace us with your… what did you entitle them? Famous Venkman chocolate pancakes?"

Peter grinned, at last grabbing the spatula and applying it to the food in question. "Venkman's Famous Double Chocolate Chip Pancakes," He sobered slightly then, and shrugged, "Anyway, I wouldn't really call it rising early… more like, going to bed really, really late."

Egon's eyebrows rapidly climbed his forehead. "I remember you coming to bed last night. Didn't you sleep?"

Peter shrugged again. "Here and there, I guess. Kinda gave up after a while though. Haven't exactly been getting a lot of satisfaction out of sleep lately." He admitted.

The kitchen was silent but for the bacon sizzling away on the stove. Egon studied his partner closely in the filmy dawn light, taking in the smudges of darkness beneath his eyes and the slight pallor of his skin. "You've been having nightmares again." He concluded with distaste.

"Ah, c'mon, Egon, not _nightmares_, just… less than happy dreams." Peter slid the bacon out of the pan and onto some paper towels to blot off the grease.

"Peter, you promised you would tell me…"

"I promised I would tell you if it was a problem. And I will. But one sleepless night does not a problem make."

Egon huffed. "Perhaps not, but those bags beneath your eyes speak of more than one sleepless night."

The brunet scowled and muttered something that sounded like a disparaging comment towards Egon's observational skills, but the taller man let it slide. Instead, he leaned across Peter and turned the stove off before moving any remaining food from the heat source. "Come, Dr. Venkman," He said authoritatively, gripping Peter by the wrist and turning him towards the door.

"Hey- what about…" Peter gestured towards the pancakes and bacon left sitting on various countertops.

"Breakfast will still be there when Winston and Ray wake. Otherwise, it will prove an indulgent treat for Slimer."

"Great. All my hard work, swallowed down by a floating, green garbage disposal." Peter muttered, "Where exactly do you think we're going, Egon? Believe it or not, I'm not actually interested in sleep right now."

"We are not going to sleep. We are simply going to bed. I will see if I can give your mind something to dwell on that has little to do with whatever has been troubling your dreams." Egon replied with great seriousness.

Peter could only grin in response. "Oh yeah?"

"Indeed. And if you should happen to fall asleep afterward…" Egon paused and looked over at Peter, squeezing his wrist minutely, "Well, I shall endeavor not to hold it against you."

"You're a real peach, Egon," Peter snorted, but leaned over and pecked the man on the cheek nonetheless, "Thanks."

"You are most welcome, Peter."


	12. Dead Wrong

Egon/Peter, swearing (should this even be a warning? I dunno)

-/-/-

Winston hadn't even brought Ecto to a full stop before Peter was out of the vehicle, slamming the door so hard behind him that it shook the car's heavy frame. He bypassed his locker completely and ignored Egon's call of his name, instead stomping up the stairs, heedless of the blue slime footprints he was leaving behind. Egon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, rounding the modified hearse to begin removing equipment. "Egon," The physicist looked up to find Winston beside him, looking grim, "Ray and I can get the gear. You go take care of that mess."

The older man nodded towards the staircase and Egon knew he wasn't referring to the ectoplasmic residue Peter had trailed up the steps. "Thank you, Winston." Egon nodded in return and headed across the garage.

It was easy enough to follow Peter's trail through the firehouse and up to the third floor bathroom. The door was shut and the sound of water hitting tile could be heard beyond it. Egon didn't bother knocking, as he and Peter hadn't hesitated to invade each other's space in years. The door knocked against a pair of boots carelessly tossed away and Egon stepped carefully around them, shutting the door behind himself.

Peter was facing the tub, his left side to the door, hunched over as he fumbled with the front of his jumpsuit. Goo-coated gloves had long been discarded, but most of Peter's torso was still liberally coated in vibrant blue ectoplasm. It reminded Egon briefly that a fair amount of the stuff was uncomfortably soaking into his pant legs. "Peter."

The psychologist ignored him, instead trying and failing again to grip the pull of his zipper. "Peter, please."

Finally Peter showed some acknowledgement, swearing and gripping the front of his jumpsuit, pulling ineffectively at the soggy material. "Damnit, Egon, will you get the hell out of here so I can get this shit off of me and just go to bed?" He demanded, dropping his hands to his side, "Is that too much to ask?"

"Yes," Egon replied, moving to the toilet and pulling a length of toilet paper off the roll, "It is."

He wadded the material up and used it to grasp the pull of Peter's zipper, managed to finally get the offending article halfway open before it got stuck on a particularly large hunk of ectoplasm. "Great, thanks. You wanna go now?" Peter huffed, struggling out of his uniform at last.

"I am not going anywhere until we have talked." Egon responded stubbornly.

Peter scowled, turning the full force of his admittedly intimidating glare on his partner. The blond only met his stare calmly, making his willingness to fight Peter every step of the way known. At last, the psychologist sighed and shimmied the rest of the way out of his suit. "What in the hell were you thinking, 'gon?" He muttered, sounding more tired now than angry.

"I was thinking," Egon replied, bending down to undo the laces of his boots, "That I had it."

"Well you were wrong, weren't you?" Peter asked stiffly as he ripped his t-shirt over his head.

Egon looked up as he began to shed his own suit. "I am not infallible, Peter. I have been wrong before."

"Well…" Peter paused in unbuttoning his jeans, "That's not allowed anymore."

"Excuse me?" Egon raised an eyebrow in disbelief, "Did you just say I'm not allowed to be wrong anymore?"

"Not when it means your life, Egon!" Peter snapped, "Not when it means you're going to be speared by Yogi the Bear's cranky, undead cousin!"

The physicist shook his head the unorthodox description of the entity they had just captured. "That seems to be placing a rather undue burden on me." He stated, finally stepping out of his uniform.

"Deal with it." Peter growled, "Because that's your job, Spengler. It's your job to come up with the great ideas and gadgets that save our asses and calculate things down to the fifth decimal and be goddamn _right._ And it's _my_ job to do all the stupid, dangerous shit so you don't. So I don't…"

"So you don't what, exactly?"

"Forget it." Peter grumbled.

"Tell me, Peter." Egon demanded, beginning to feel sparks of irritation, "You owe me as much, if you're going to have such high expectations of me. I can hardly do proper _calculations_ if I don't have all the variables."

"So I don't have to deal with losing you!" Peter finally snapped, surging forward and wrapping his hand around Egon's bicep, "Don't you get it? I can't- I can't deal with that, Egon. So just don't…"

"And you think I am better equipped to deal with losing you? With something happening to you?" The taller man stepped forward, crowding into Peter's space, "Do not suggest that you in some way expendable, Peter, or that you are less important than anyone else on this team. That would be an error in judgment more grievous than any I have made."

Green eyes met blue in a defiant gaze, and Peter seemed ready to continue arguing before he suddenly sagged forward and dropped his head on Egon's shoulder. "Damn it, Spengs, you make me do some crazy stuff, you know that?" He muttered.

"I don't think you require any help in that area, Peter."

Peter's shoulders shook minutely in amusement, but he said nothing more. He had yet to relinquish his grip on Egon's bicep, and Egon brought his free arm around Peter's waist, holding him in place. Finally, as Egon's glasses began to fog up from the heat of the shower spray, he broke the silence. "We're going to run out of hot water." He stated.

"Well, maybe we should get a move on, then." Peter suggested, slipping his hands up under the sweatshirt Egon had pulled on under his jumpsuit—a hurried acquisition from the chair in the corner of his and Peter's room.

"Perhaps." Egon agreed, meeting Peter's mouth eagerly when the brunet raised his head.

"Just promise me something, Spengs," Peter said quietly as they pulled apart, "Be right more often."

Egon nodded solemnly, suppressing a small smile. "I shall endeavor to do so."

"Good," Peter kissed him again before pushing the sweatshirt up and over blond hair, "Now come help me get this blue crap out of my hair."


	13. Running Away

Egon/Peter, set during college time frame, non-explicit descriptions of sexual acts (doesn't actually happen IN the story, someone's just thinking about it...)

-/-/-

Egon glared halfheartedly down at the cup of coffee sitting on the table before him. It was lukewarm by now, well on its way to cold. He supposed he ought to ask the waitress to top it off for him, or to bring him a fresh cup altogether, but he found he couldn't be bothered with actually speaking to someone. Instead, he took another sip of the bitter drink, noting distantly that the cream was beginning to separate from the coffee.

Most of his mind was occupied with how poorly the beverage measured up to the liquid heat of Peter's tongue, tangling with his own, stroking languidly at the roof of his mouth…

Shaking his head, Egon replaced the cup firmly on the table. If he was here to sort out the jumbled mess that had become his feelings towards Peter, such distractions would not in any way help.

After all, there was quite a difference between emotional attachment and physical desire. One could be very fond of a person without wanting to go to bed with them. And one could go to bed with a person without being emotionally attached to them. Peter did the latter all the time, as he would proudly proclaim. He never brought the names of his "dates" into the conversation, however. Egon had never noticed, but Peter was discrete in at least that respect; the brunet never even specified if his date was male or female, and Egon began to wonder how many other men Peter had been to bed with. How many other men had had the distinctly sinful pleasure of Peter's mouth on them, kissing them, marking them, lavishing attention on their most private areas? How many other men had Peter looked up at through full lashes as he sucked them off in expert fashion the way he had Egon?

Well, jealously was hardly helpful. All it really did was inform Egon that he harbored… possessive feelings for Peter, which didn't actually clear up the situation at all. In fact, it really only muddied Egon's mind further.

It wasn't as though he regretted their night of shared passion. Not at all. Egon didn't think he could ever bring himself to regret gaining the most erotic memory of Peter riding him, mouth open in a gasp of pleasure, hands braced on Egon's shoulders while Egon's own hands gripped Peter's hips eagerly.

No, that had been most pleasurable.

What had sent Egon running to the dingy all-night diner just off campus had been what happened after.

When they had expended the last of their not inconsiderable energy, both Egon and Peter had laid back on Peter's pillow-crowded bed, tangled in sheets and catching their breath. Peter's frat brothers had gone to some party or another at a sorority across campus and most of them wouldn't be stumbling in until the break of dawn, if then. But despite there being plenty of time to rest and relax, Egon expected Peter to be up and heading for the shower in record time, making jokes and snarking off the whole way, fearing that the post-coital lull would bring forth discussion. Certainly, if there was one thing Peter Venkman did not do, it was talk about his feelings.

He managed to surprise Egon thoroughly, however, by curling into the taller man's side, laying his head upon his chest, and immediately drifting off to sleep. It wasn't the act of dropping off to sleep that had surprised Egon—Peter could and would sleep anywhere if he could sit still there for more than a minute—it was the implications that had shaken him.

It occurred to Egon, looking down at his friend-turned-lover's face pillowed on his chest, his nose brushing a hickey he'd left on Egon's pectoral and his mouth curved up ever so slightly, that this could actually hurt Peter. This could hurt the young man who was warm and pliant and trustingly pressed against his side.

The only logical course of action had been to run away.

He had gathered his clothes and quietly left the frat house, and then took refuge under the fluorescent lights of the nearest questionable diner he could locate, purchased a cup of coffee, and had been thinking furiously ever since.

Peter trusted him. Peter trusted Egon without a second thought and that was the single most miraculous thing Egon had ever experienced. When he had met Peter, Egon considered he would be lucky if the younger man ever called him his friend. Now, the psychology student had readily bared himself to Egon, body and mind, and it terrified him.

If they continued along this path, the path in which Peter gave Egon full access to all he was and Egon did the same, there was a very real possibility things would end very badly. Of course, Peter probably expected Egon to be there in bed with him when awoke, considering neither of them had any obligations for the day, and if the brunet woke alone, well… there would be no coming back from that, either.

Egon sighted and watched the sky silhouetting the buildings outside the diner begin to brighten with the first hints of dawn. He wondered if he had completely lost control of his life only when he had kissed Peter the previous evening, or when the young man had very first waltzed into his life those some years ago.


	14. Judgement

Egon/Peter, Peter and Winston friendship, allusions to homophobia, religious talk

-/-/-

"So, Zed…" Peter said abruptly as he rounded the couch and flopped down next to the older man, "You like God, right?"

"What?" Winston raised an eyebrow in confusion, shutting the mystery novel he was currently burning his way through.

"Y'know, read the Bible; father, son, and the holy ghost; Jesus loves you and all that." The psychologist waved his hand in a physical expression of 'et cetera.'

The look on Winston's face must have articulated how unimpressed he was with Peter's phrasing, because before Winston could even open his mouth to respond, Peter was holding out his hands placatingly. "Sorry, I don't mean any offense, I just… what I mean to ask is, you're religious, right?"

"Yeah…" Winston drew the word out, willing the other man to explain where he was going with this.

Peter paused, looking Winston over with the most searching, discerning look he could remember being on the receiving end of since he had started with the Ghostbusters over a year ago. "And you know about me and Egon." Peter said finally, more serious this time.

Ah. It was time for _that_ conversation, apparently. Winston sat forward with deliberate calm to place his book on the coffee table, then looked back to his teammate. "Yeah, Pete, I know." He nodded.

Winston considered himself to have a very good sense of people, but it had taken him longer than he would have liked to admit to pick up on the relationship between two of the founding members of the crazy company he now found himself employed with. Granted, the first few weeks on the job he hadn't been able to do much more than get acquainted with the guys, things were so busy. After the Gozer incident, business had calmed down, but their lives had not. In the following months, they'd rebuilt the firehouse and rebuilt their name and Winston had finally gotten himself situated in the life of ghostbusting, coming to terms with the facets of the truly bizarre profession and its truly bizarre proprietors.

He had seen the extreme closeness between all three of the men he now worked with and chalked Peter's and Egon's actions towards each other as a deeply-set friendship. By the six month mark, however, he began to wonder if the discrete touches and wordless glances they shared meant something… else. Not one to jump to conclusions, Winston's suspicions had only been confirmed some three months ago when he'd walked in on them in the lab, so caught up in a kiss that they hadn't even noticed him come and go.

Unsure of what to do with the information that was obviously supposed to be private, Winston had filed it away under the heading of "None Of My Business" and left it there. Until now, that was. "How long have you had us figured?" Peter asked, his casual tone belied by the stiffness of his posture.

"A few months." Winston shrugged.

"Huh," Peter cocked his head, "Thought you had it before then… like maybe half a year ago."

Winston shook his head in amusement. Peter had better observational skills than he let on, that was for sure. "I had an idea. Wasn't sure until I, uh, had some evidence."

"Ah, geez," Peter groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes, "I _knew_ that was a bad idea. I _told_ Spengs you guys would be back from the store in less than an hour, but noo…"

"What? No, no, not- No." Winston shook his head vigorously, waving his hand at Peter to shut the younger man up, "I just- I mean, you were in the lab. You were just… kissing, is all."

"Oh." The brunet grinned, "Well, at least we didn't scar you too badly, I guess."

Winston raised a dubious eyebrow at the man and was ignored in favor of continued dialogue. "The reason I ask about the religious thing, though, is…"

"Yeah, I get it." Winston cut him off, scrutinizing Peter, "You ever read the Bible, Pete?"

"Nah, not really." Peter shrugged, "Dad's not exactly a God-fearing man and Mom… well, she's Christian, but it's not like we really had a lot of time to go to church when I was a kid. Never got the whole religion thing, honestly."

He paused for a moment, then continued more seriously. "What I do know? When I was younger and I was too stupid to be more careful, I had a lot of bad words thrown at me in the name of the good book. A whole lot of people are ready to tear you down if they think they have God behind them. What I want to figure out," Peter leveled Winston with a carefully neutral look, "Is what I can expect from you."

Winston sighed, running a hand over his face and leaning back against the couch before he glanced over at Peter. "Y'know, the Bible doesn't actually say too much about homosexuality. A lot of the stuff people use as evidence against it is actually about something else. They don't pay close enough attention. One thing I know for sure, though, is that Jesus told us to treat each other right. Spread love, not hate." He paused, gathering his thoughts, "Look, Pete, it's not my place to pass judgment. I don't know what's going to happen after we all bite the big one… hopefully years and years from now. But right now, I can't tell you you're right or wrong."

"If it was your place, though? Just hypothetically speaking, of course, what would you say?" Peter asked, still deliberately nonchalant.

Winston regarded the man beside him with a frown, realizing suddenly that he was being gauged as a threat. Peter, all the guys, trusted him in the field, and that was fine. That wasn't going away. But the fire hall was their home and what Peter wanted to know was not if he could trust Winston with his life, but with his secrets. If he and Egon could be fully comfortable in this place where they should be able to find solace from the outside world. Finally, Winston found his reply. "Honestly? We do a lot of good for the world. We save people. Hell, we kind of fight evil," He let out a short huff of laughter, "I think that outweighs a lot of stuff. If you two are in love, I can't really see anything wrong with that. Spread love, not hate."

Peter regarded him for a moment more, before breaking into a grin. "Great. Keep that in mind if I ever need to bum cash off you for an anniversary present."

Winston rolled his eyes. "Good luck with that, man. You still owe me five bucks from that little wager we made last month."

"Oh, come on, that was a completely unfair bet! There was no way Ecto should've fit through that alley!" Peter denied.

"Well, maybe that'll teach you to underestimate me and my girl." Winston chuckled, reaching for his novel once more.

Peter paused. "Nah, don't think I'll underestimate you again, Zed."

Winston had the warm impression Peter was referring to more than just his driving skills.


	15. Seeking Solace

Pre-slash Egon/Peter, non-graphic description of injuries

-/-/-

It happened after a bad bust—and wasn't that always when the inexcusably tender things suddenly became excusable? Peter didn't ponder on the idea as he sat on the edge of Egon's bed. Ray's and Winston's beds across the bunkroom were conspicuously empty.

Instead of his own, cartoon-sheeted bed, Ray was currently occupying a bed in the ICU at one of New York City's many fine hospitals. Getting hit by a car did tend to lay one up for a bit. Had things been less serious, Peter might have made a crack about the state not issuing driver's licenses to ghosts, but he didn't have the heart. The fact was, a spook-powered vehicle had sent Ray flying across the street where they were performing their work, scaring the shit out of the three remaining Ghostbusters. Though he had escaped with just a concussion, a broken arm, and a few nasty lacerations, they were all shaken; probably Ray least of all, considering the hospital staff had him on some pretty heavy pain meds. They had wanted to keep him at least overnight and, surprise, surprise, they would only allow one sentry posted at his bedside.

To be fair, technically no visitors were allowed overnight, but they did make an exception in the case of the "ghost cops." Egon, Peter, and Winston had drawn straws and Winston had won the pot. He had stayed to keep an unaware and heavily-bandaged Ray company while Egon and Peter were shooed away by an adamant nurse.

They came home to the firehouse, assured Janine of Ray's stable condition, went through the motions of containing the two class sixes they _had_ managed to capture (and when they tracked down the one that got away, Peter promised he would take special pleasure in letting the bastard writhe in his beam for a while before they trapped it), charging the packs, and shelving equipment. Even Peter, who loathed menial tasks of any kind, took a certain comfort in the routine.

However, after agreeing that showering and going to bed would be the best course of action, Peter had hit a snag. Though he was always up for a nap—and he did mean always—he found himself completely unable to fall asleep on this particular night. A dull metallic thud, followed by the sight of Ray flying through the air and landing in a broken heap on the asphalt would play out in his mind any time he shut his eyes. Instead, he found himself situated on the edge of Egon's bed, wondering if watching one of his other best friends, healthy and peaceful, would do anything to quiet his mind. "Peter, if you intend on staring at me all night, you may as well lay down." Or maybe not so peaceful.

"I'm not gonna stare at you _all_ night. Just half the night. Figured if that didn't bore me to sleep, I could go take the milk out of the fridge and watch it curdle for funsies."

Egon squinted across the bed, his eyesight impaired not only by his lack of spectacles, but by the dark as well. "Either go back to your own bed, or lay down here, but please stop looming over me in the darkness. It's… unnerving."

Peter sighed. "Sorry, Spengs. Just shaken up after today, y'know."

"Of course," Egon nodded, bracing his elbows beneath him to give him a better vantage of the man hovering at the end of his bed, "It's perfectly understandable. I certainly cannot claim to be unaffected by today's events."

"Double negatives, Egon? You really must be cracking up in there." Egon couldn't see the smirk on Peter's face, but he knew it was there nonetheless.

"Yes, well, as amusing as the Venkman wit truly is, I would appreciate it if you would make your decision. Visiting hours start at 8:30 in the morning and I would like to be there at that time."

Peter paused, and Egon could sense more than see the gaze resting on him. Finally, the brunet stood and gave an exaggerated stretch. "No arguments from me, Egon. I'll just… head back over to my own bunk." He murmured into the shadows.

"Peter," Egon reached out and caught the edge of tank top Peter had worn to bed, "I did mean it. You are welcome to stay in my bed tonight. I was not faring much better than you in getting some rest. Perhaps together we will find more solace than we did apart."

"Well, sure," Peter shrugged, "I'm gonna get cold lying on top of your comforter there, though."

"Interestingly enough, the blankets do lift away from the mattress, providing one access to the warmth contained therein." Egon replied dryly, pulling back the covers to make room for Peter.

"Huh, imagine that," Peter said lightly, even as he slipped into the bed beside Egon, "Must be a new feature."

"Indeed." Egon agreed with a small smile he knew Peter wouldn't see in the dark.

Neither man ventured over the invisible middle division of the bed at first, until Egon reached out and curled a hand around Peter's forearm in a rare show of physical comfort. It gave Peter pause before he shook his head with a muttered, "ah, hell," and breached the space between them entirely. He sipped one arm over Egon's midsection and pressed his body up to the side of the taller man's, resting his head on Egon's shoulder. "That's better." Peter declared.

Egon shifted slightly under his grasp, and Peter feared he might have read his longtime friend incorrectly before realizing the man was only finding a more comfortable position. "Yes, I must agree."

It was something of a strange sensation; the two had shared close spaces before, had practically abolished each other's personal space, in fact, but being pressed together in the same bed was altogether new, though most pleasant in any case. Egon found himself surprisingly comforted by the deep, even sound of Peter's breathing, and Peter similarly so by the steady rise and fall of Egon's chest. They lay together in comfortable silence, beginning to drop off into sleep, before Peter's voice broke through the darkness. "Thanks, Egon."

"Any time, Peter." Egon replied quietly

Peter hoped he meant it, because he seriously intended on taking him up on the offer.


	16. Excuses

Egon/Peter, also featuring Winston and Ray, no warnings

-/-/-

"A Jags game, Winston? You've gotta be kidding me! Never mind that they're the worst team to ever don baseball caps—don't look at me like that, your loyalty to the team is admirable, but come on—and did you happen to forget what happened the _last time_ I set foot in that stadium? Count me out, Zed."

-/-/-

"I do apologize, Raymond, but I am otherwise engaged this evening. I will be very busy with a personal experiment I've been considering for some time—of course, I'll be certain to inform you of the outcome should it be of any interest to you. I hope it won't be disappointing attending Doctor Jashi's presentation on your own."

-/-/-

"It is very regrettable I'll be missing the signing of Miss Marble's latest mystery novel, Winston. Any writer whose work manages to keep you guessing is one whose hand I wish to shake. Unfortunately, I already promised my time to Peter this afternoon. He insists he has yet to repay me for the… unpleasantness that took place at the opera. He'll be dragging me to a matinee showing of some tasteless Western film, I'm sure. Perhaps I'll be able to accompany you next time."

-/-/-

"Ah, sorry, Tex, I've got paperwork to catch up on. Janine's been breathing down my neck all month about making sure the insurance is paid up and I should probably get on that. It's not easy being the only one around here doing any of that tedious paper-pushing, keeping the bill collectors off our backs, keeping Janine in gaudy jewelry and keeping you and Egon in blinking gizmos that don't actually do anything, but it's a sacrifice… stop laughing at me, Ray. Just see if I remember to save time to go to the comic shop with you _next_ month."

-/-/-

"Say, Ray?" Winston inquired of his red-headed companion, glancing away from the shining line of cars before them.

"Yeah, Winston?" Ray replied absently, his attention still enraptured by the marvelous pieces of machinery he just itched to bury his hands in.

"D'you get the feeling that Egon and Pete are… I dunno, avoiding us?"

That, at least, seemed to grab Ray's interest. "Avoiding us? What gave you that idea?"

"I don't know, man, it just seems like every time in the past few weeks we've invited them somewhere, they've had some kind of excuse. I mean, you know normally Egon would've been all over this car show; he likes mechanics almost as much as you n' me." Winston shrugged, then smirked briefly, "And Peter usually wouldn't pass up the opportunity to flirt with all the pretty girls showcasing these fine machines."

Ray gave a short chuckle, but his face then fell into a pensive frown. "I guess they haven't really been hanging out with us as much lately… but that's alright. They've both been kinda occupied. Our busy season is coming and Peter says he wants to get all the files in order so he can just coast through it without Janine bugging him for stuff. Y'know, he does paperwork pretty much the same way he went through college: cramming it all in at the last minute." The shorter man grinned, "And Egon says he's working an idea for a new project. He seems pretty enthusiastic; I can't wait until he's ready to share it!"

"Alright, homeboy, I'll take your word on it. Guess they have seemed pretty busy." Winston shrugged before glancing down at the program they'd been issued at the door, "Now, what do you say to going to the unveiling of Generous Motor's new model? I bet if we flash our IDs at the door we'll get some real good seats."

"I'd say that sounds like a plan, Winston." Ray's grin widened, demonstrating his capacity for ever-increasing excitement, "C'mon!"

-/-/-

"So, when are Ray and Winston supposed to be back from the car show?" Peter asked, leaning back against the pillows to catch his breath.

"Likely not before dinner," Egon replied, laying back next to him, "And that's if Ray manages to keep his hands off the engines."

"Hmm, plenty of time, then." Peter grinned, giving a sinuous stretch before rolling over to bury his nose in the crook of Egon's neck.

"I always knew about your hyperactive libido, but I never imagined you would be quite this…" Egon paused, clearing his throat to gain composure even as Peter began nipping the skin of his shoulder, "Incorrigible."

"Maybe it's just you." Peter murmured against his skin, moving his lips to the curve of his lover's neck.

"Peter," The blond brought a hand up to the nape of Peter's neck, stilling him for a moment, "We are going to have to tell them. Sooner rather than later, I would prefer. I think Winston is beginning to believe we're avoiding them."

Finally Peter's actions ceased. Instead, he rested his chin on Egon's chest, releasing a slow breath through his nose. "I know," He admitted, "It's just kinda hard, I guess."

"Why?" Egon inquired, absently stroking at the back of Peter's neck.

The brunet moved his shoulders in a motion approximating a shrug. "Bunch of reasons, I guess. Nothing to get into now. Anyway, you can't really blame me for wanting to keep you to myself for a while." He winked up at Egon.

Egon quirked an eyebrow at him, but gave a minute smile. "I admit, I'm guilty of similar thoughts. Nonetheless, Ray is eventually going to start insisting that I share this new… project with him."

Peter snorted, sitting up once more. "Project, Spengler? Really?" He grinned down at the physicist resting against his pillows.

"Well, you are a bit of a project, if I am being honest. After all, I've been working since college to improve your behavior. Something of a drawn-out Pygmalion. However, I seem to be failing where Higgins prevailed."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. As if you can improve on perfection. Also," His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned down to bring his face level with Egon's, "You are _not_ sharing me with Ray."

The statement forced an amused snort out of Egon, who began to reply even as Peter brushed their lips together. "No, I am not."


	17. Vengeance

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

"Peter, remind me why we are here again." Egon demanded, shifting uncomfortably in the cheap theater seat.

"Aw, that's an easy one. We're here because a few billion years ago there was this huge explosion that created all the matter that will ever exist and…"

"_Peter_," Egon cut across irately, "That is a gross oversimplification. Also that's not what I meant."

"Well _someone_ doesn't like having their lines stolen," Peter muttered, "We are here, Egon, because I still owe you for that godawful mess that was the opera."

Egon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Honestly, Peter, you should really let that go. It was well over a year ago and it wasn't that bad…"

"I got kidnapped by a bunch of shrieking fat women on horseback!" Peter reminded him indignantly.

"Yes, well… perhaps if you had not been otherwise occupied."

"Oh, shove it, Spengler, like you weren't trying to score a date with that diva, too."

Egon sighed. Despite his unwillingness to be dragged to the movie theater that afternoon, he certainly didn't want to spend the rest of the day snipping back and forth with Peter. "I may have been," He admitted, "But at least we both came to our senses in the end."

To demonstrate his point, he reached over in the semi-darkness of the preshow theater and laid his hand over Peter's. It seemed he had achieved the desired effect when a small smirk crossed Peter's face, though he said nothing. The two men sat in silence for a few long minutes before the room began to darken as the screen lit up. "What movie did you drag us to, again?" Egon leaned over and asked in a hushed voice.

"The Undertaker's Daughter," Peter whispered back, "A great Dewey LaMorte book that should make a great film. You'll love it."

"Your knowledge of my interests never ceases to amaze me, Peter." Egon replied drily, only to be shushed with a flap of Peter's hand.

"It's starting. You've gotta pay attention to the beginning, or you'll be lost."

"Undoubtedly."

Egon tried to pay attention. He made a real, honest effort for about 10 minutes—after all, he distinctly remembered Peter paying attention for the first 10 minutes at the opera before he began to fidget. After that, however, Egon's attention began to wane and he searched himself for something to do.

At first, he pulled out the small, lined notebook that was ever-present in his pocket and attempted to make notes on repairs and improvements for some of the equipment, but the light of the movie screen was simply too dim to see by, particularly situated at the back of the theater as they were. He only noticed the pad was pressed almost up against his nose as he squinted at his own writing when Peter reached over and gently pushed his arm down. "You're gonna make your eyesight even worse, Egon." He chided quietly over the raucous sound of the first of what was sure to be many saloon fights, "Just pay attention to the movie."

Easier said than done.

Egon sighed. What he needed was something with a light source. As he pondered his conundrum, he slipped his notebook back into his jacket pocket and felt his fingers bump against something else in his pocket. _Of course_, he grinned to himself, pulling the PKE meter out of the confines of his jacket, _how could I have forgotten?_ It wasn't as though he ever went anywhere without it. However, just as Egon was pulling the antennae up and preparing to switch the device on, Peter reached over and caught his wrist in an almost painfully tight grip. "You turn that on and your precious PKE meter will meet an untimely and very unfortunate end, Spengler."

Prepared though he was to argue, Egon found the words stuck in his throat at the determined set of Peter's jaw. This was not a Venkman making idle threats. Egon sighed again. "Very well, Peter." He acquiesced, slipping the meter back into his jacket.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Spengs, it's not that bad. Just give it a chance, would you?"

"I have given many of your Westerns a chance, Peter. Several dozen throughout the course of our friendship. I have never enjoyed them and the ridiculous embrace the so-called hero is now in with who I assume must be the undertaker's daughter informs me that this one will be no different." Egon murmured, loud enough to be heard over the overdone dialogue. He would have been more concerned about bothering the other patrons, but the only other New Yorker willing to come out to see a Western flick on a Wednesday afternoon was sitting in the front row and was unlikely to notice their quiet conversation.

"Well, maybe this one _will_ be different." Peter shrugged, though the satisfied smirk playing at his lips suggested that he had not counted on Egon enjoying their trip to the movies at all, "Never know 'til you give it a chance."

Egon huffed and resettled in his seat. Surely there had to be a way out of this. It had barely been half an hour and Egon did _not_ plan on sitting through another hour of what little their film of choice had to offer. Where was an ill-timed ectoplasmic entity when you needed one? Such attacks always seemed to follow their band around, and now, when Egon was truly hoping for one, there was nothing.

Egon glanced over at Peter, who seemed enraptured by the film. He almost felt bad for wanting to leave, but, well- "_Well, missy, s'I like to say: don't interfere with somethin' that ain't botherin' you none_." Egon winced as the leading man delivered this piece of wisdom in his heavy, horrible accent, and decided that he had to find a way to get out of there as soon as possible. Considering Peter, there were really only two things guaranteed to distract him from a task he set his mind on: ghosts and/or the promise of a paid bust, or…

Well, that was an idea. Not one Egon much cottoned to thinking about in public, but desperate times, he supposed. Just about anything would be better than sitting in the back of a theater, bored to tears. Mind set, Egon very casually stretched his arms up and draped one over Peter's shoulders. Peter glanced over to him, a confused frown visible in the flickering light. "What're you doing, Egon?"

"Relaxing," Egon replied quietly, attempting to remain nonchalant, "If you're going to insist on keeping us here for the remainder of the movie, I suppose I may as well be comfortable."

Peter glanced to the front of the theater, where the only other patron sat, unsure of the casual display of affection, but evidently decided they were safe enough in their seats at the back. With one last calculating look in Egon's direction, Peter settled back against his seat and relaxed beneath his partner's arm.

In another 10 minutes, Peter was engrossed in the film again, following the movements of the lead man across a cattle field in the night as he ostensibly went to foil the plans of some cattle rustlers—at least, that sounded plausible enough; Egon wasn't particularly paying attention. Instead, in the near pitch-darkness of the theater, he took his chance and reached over to grasp Peter's chin, turn his head gently, and closed the distance between their mouths. Instinct dictated that Peter kissed back for about three seconds before shaking out of Egon's hold. "_What the hell are you doing_?" Peter hissed, looking back toward the front row, where their fellow patron remained oblivious to his and Egon's actions.

"If I recall some of your stories of, ah, previous conquests, this would seem to be the exact purpose of sitting in the back of a deserted movie theater." Egon replied.

"Okay, that's- I mean, I don't- Not always, and," Peter spluttered, finally gesturing towards the front row, "And that guy is gonna notice _something_, Egon."

"I'm fairly certain that man has been asleep since the opening sequence. His popcorn fell onto the floor about fifteen minutes ago."

"Well…" Peter tried once more, only to be cut off by the quick press of Egon's lips.

"Peter, it seems very rare lately that we have an afternoon to ourselves. I would like to enjoy it." Though Egon was generally a terrible liar and he really did intend to get out of that theater as soon as possible, the words fell from his mouth as nothing but the truth.

Peter glanced around the room, at the entrance, at the screen, at the sleeping man, and finally back to Egon, before rolling his eyes. "You're a sap, y'know that?"

Egon smiled faintly in the dark. "I should think I have no one but you to thank for that."

Peter rolled his eyes but gave no further protest to spending the middle portion of the movie making out in the back of the theater. At least until the second time he brought his knee up and banged it against the armrest. "Damnit, this does not work as well when you can't fit two people in a seat." Peter griped, massaging his knee.

"I'm sure we could find somewhere more… spacious, if you wanted." Egon offered.

"Jesus, yes, let's get out of here." Peter huffed, snatching Egon's hand and dragging him down the empty aisle of seats.

Unable to resist, Egon leaned down and murmured in Peter's ear as they walked. "You're sure you don't want to stay for the remainder of the film?"

"Shut it, Spengler." Peter released Egon's hand as they reached the entrance, but tossed a grin over his shoulder that promised an afternoon of things that would undoubtedly be more interesting than a trite Western film, "We'll just have to come back another time."


	18. Love

Egon/Peter, no warnings

-/-/-

Peter never said it, but it showed in his actions; in a hundred different small ways that were inexpressible and worth more than that one word could ever be.

It showed in the way he deferred to Egon's expertise on busts. In the way he trusted the physicist's judgment implicitly, and in the way he watched over him as if he were protecting something precious.

It showed when he unexpectedly found extra money in the budget and bought some expensive gadget for the lab that he somehow knew Egon had his eye on, despite the other man never saying a word about it.

It showed in how he acted around women now, smiling and charming them and signing autographs and then… snapping right back to Egon's side, talking and joking with him as though he never needed to be doing anything else.

It showed even when he didn't want it to; he would studiously avoid physical contact with Egon in public, sometimes even when it was just them and Ray and Winston, though to what end Egon couldn't begin to guess. Peter's eyes would find him without fail, though, in crowds and in chaos and in quiet evenings at home.

It showed when he lost his temper with Egon, shouting about safety and unnecessary risks and _don't ever do that again, do you hear me?_

It showed every time he _did_ touch Egon, brushing his shoulder, a hand on his lower back, fingers intertwining, an arm around his waist, tangling hands in his hair, grasping at any part of him within reach while gasping his name, and doing an admirable impression of an octopus while they slept.

It showed in the attention he fairly lavished on Egon in bed, unwinding the man to his barest components, until he could do nothing but lay there and gasp. And it showed in the way he allowed Egon to do the same.

It fairly shone from his eyes every time he watched Egon just being Egon, in the lab, in the living area, eating breakfast, in bed, driving, any time he could allow his attention to wander to the bespectacled scientist.

Still, Peter didn't seem to share this opinion with Egon. One night, as they stood from the couch after another evening of shushing Winston to the sound of a mystery movie, Peter reached out and grabbed Egon's hand. "Hey," He said, his eyes sliding away uncomfortably when Egon looked back at him.

"Yes?" Egon asked, sleepy and content and willing to listen.

"You know," Peter looked back up, green eyes squarely meeting blue, "You know I love you, right?"

"Yes, Peter," Egon favored the man with a soft smile, "I know."


End file.
